13 Sins to Confess with Domiziano Cristopharo

1

You’ve shifted from directing to a more body-centered artistic path. Where does this need come from? Could you tell us more about it?

I’m glad to explain this, also because it’s a necessary clarification: cinema was actually the detour — the “new path,” if anything. I began my career as a performer and dancer. I founded my first theater company when I was just 20, and I worked consistently in theater as an actor and singer until 2015. Film came later, almost as a borrowed phase — I acted in Fantasticherie di un Passeggiatore Solitario by Paolo Gaudio, did voice work, and contributed special effects to films like Sole Nero by Krzysztof Zanussi and Two Families by Romano Scavolini. But my roots are in performance. The body as a communicative and expressive tool is a central theme across all my work, even in cinema.

Last year I returned to the stage with promising results, founding the company Materia Prima, composed of rotating performers like Luis Lemos Paez, Chiara Pavoni, Kevin Poblador Torres, and myself.

2

You direct, sing, dance, and even do pole dancing. Which discipline feels most natural to you, and which best reflects your artistic identity?

Definitely being a stage performer — whether acting, dancing, or singing. Pole dancing is something I do for sport. I feel most aligned with Butoh. As a traditional actor, I don’t think I’m particularly outstanding, but I understand that my “persona” works on screen.

3

Can you tell us more about Butoh and how you became passionate about it?

I discovered Butoh when I was 20, while doing dance-theater, and later fell deeply in love with it after attending a workshop with Masaki Iwana — one of the last remaining performers of the original Japanese school.

Butoh is not just a dance style — it’s a profound system of bodily expression that merges performance, theater, and dance. It’s closer to being an independent art form. If you approach it with only your senses, it can be elusive or hard to grasp.

It originated in post-war Japan, during a time of national trauma and cultural contradiction — a country trying to rebuild while still bearing the deep wounds of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The iconic images of pale, naked bodies trembling and struggling to rise from the ground are both cries of rebirth and of desperation.

4

Your films often include male nudity, a subject still considered taboo compared to the widely accepted female nude. Why do you think this remains controversial?

Aside from religious and right-wing moralistic hypocrisy, art historian Eva Kernbauer from the University of Applied Arts in Vienna puts it well: the historical associations of male and female nudes are fundamentally different. Male nudity has been linked to power and heroism, while female nudity is tied to beauty and eroticism — making it more “acceptable” to audiences.

We’ve become numb to the female body presented from every angle imaginable, but a male nude still triggers discomfort or shame. Yet male nudity isn’t new — think of filmmakers like Noé or Özpetek, or actors like Garko in Valentino, or shows like OZ and Spartacus. We see muscular men in sports or clubs all the time, and still, every time a penis appears on screen, it’s treated as an anomaly.

5

Your films sometimes depict torture or genital mutilation. Is this more of a cathartic act or a provocation?

Honestly, that’s a bit of a myth. Even if it were true, it wouldn’t bother me. For example, in Sacrifice by Poison Rouge, I did the body double for the penis scenes. Yes, Hyde’s Secret Nightmare features a castration — a woman bites off a man’s genitals after he refuses to use protection. In Doll Syndrome there’s self-harm, and in XpIation, a rapist gets his testicles ironed — a revenge act by the victim. In 61 Scorecard Killer, we portrayed actual acts committed by Randy Kraft.

Out of over 20 films, that’s not an overwhelming trend. These scenes aren’t cathartic — I don’t use film to vent. My work often draws on real-life crime stories.

If anything, it’s provocative. If people are unshaken by Huppert masturbating with broken glass in The Piano Teacher but outraged by a mutilated penis in Doll Syndrome, that tells you the male body still needs normalization.

6

During filming, which scenes were the most fun or the most uncomfortable?

Zero discomfort — for me or for my actors. Our behind-the-scenes footage proves that even the most brutal scenes are shot in a light, relaxed atmosphere. I avoid working with actors who believe they must suffer for a role — I prefer those who just act.

Once, a crew member fainted during a torture scene, but I think it was due to exhaustion, not the content.

The most fun I had was filming Eldorado and The Obsessed (Last Days of Ricardo Lopez). Eldorado felt magical — we were exploring santería rituals and actually experienced the settings as our characters did. The Obsessed was full of practical effects and took nearly a month to shoot. Actor and FX artist Jacopo Tomassini was a joy to work with.

The toughest shoot was La Perdición — it’s set on a boat, and I suffer from seasickness.

7

Is there a certain satisfaction in provoking both admiration and disgust? What do you hope people feel when watching your work, on stage or screen?

In film, I’m fine with people leaving shocked or even emotionally disturbed. Most of my stories are tragedies, painted in bold strokes — stories of deep loneliness and suffering. I appreciate when that aspect resonates.

In theater, my approach is far more sensorial: no music, minimal lighting (just candles), and naked bodies. The message is one of transformation, evolution — almost alchemical.

8

Are there any films or books that have disturbed you deeply?

Books, yes. Films, less often. Pasolini still punches hard, even 40 years on. When I hear that 50 Shades or Climax made audiences uncomfortable, I can’t help but roll my eyes.

That said, two films that genuinely unsettled me recently were Peter Greenaway’s The Baby of Mâcon and Pablo Berger’s Blancanieves.

9

What’s your take on mainstream cinema’s lack of originality and the flood of remakes?

Great cinema — as we once knew it — is long gone. The industry today is focused purely on profit. Actors are no longer discovered as artistic responses to culture, but squeezed dry after one hit.

Back then, every filmmaker tried to make the film of the year — now they just want the safe box office hit. Producers today are often ignorant, investing only in what they already know. There are still great authors and audiences, but we lack visionary producers.

I admired The Lighthouse, The Witch, and A Ghost Story — bold projects that are rare these days.

10

How do you feel about streaming platforms like Netflix or Prime introducing more niche, indie, or extreme genre films? Could this make the genre more accessible?

I never shared the hysteria over streaming platforms. Cinema didn’t kill theater, TV didn’t kill cinema — and Netflix won’t kill anything either. They serve different audiences.

Netflix has actually supported bold projects that traditional cinema wouldn’t touch — The Babysitter, for example, or directors like Oz Perkins, who was otherwise shut out.

Do they support niche cinema out of passion? Probably not — it’s more about filling out catalogs. But if that randomness brings exposure to niche genres, I welcome it.

11

How has extreme horror cinema influenced your artistic voice, and why have you moved away from it?

My debut, House of Flesh Mannequins, was so controversial it triggered lawsuits and was blocked for years. My style has always been unfiltered and direct — not necessarily “extreme.” I’ve done plenty of non-extreme films: Museum of Wonders, Dark Waves, Two Left Arms, Shock, Transparent Woman, Nightmare Symphony.

Extreme cinema has a powerful niche. Some of my titles — Sacrifice, Torment, XXX Dark Web — became cult hits, reaching international audiences fast. That helped establish my name.

Unfortunately, the extreme horror audience often isn’t what I hoped. Many watch Salò only for the nudity or torture. It’s unsettling to engage with viewers who see these films as mere outlets for their deviant fantasies.

I kept hearing, “It’s not extreme enough…” after films that included decapitation and necrophilia. I can’t keep escalating depravity to satisfy that. I want to tell stories.

In fact, my latest work moves away from horror entirely: La Perdición is a drama, Eldorado a road movie, 4 Halloween a trashy horror comedy.

12

Looking back, is there a film you’d remake differently?

Absolutely. Museum of Wonders was originally meant to be an extreme horror film, but after House of Flesh, the producers were too afraid of censorship. I’d also redo XpIation — it was written for a Black actor to address racism, but after the original actor had an accident, we cast a Latino replacement. He was talented, but the racial subtext didn’t translate as powerfully.

13

Can you share anything about your current project?

It’s a love story — and a story of death — like many of my films. I shot it over 17 months using digital, film, and VHS. Not as a gimmick, but as a personal challenge to escape my creative comfort zone.

It’s a deeply personal work, and I’m very satisfied with the result. The theme is quite unusual. I’m keeping it under wraps for now — unfortunately, there are a few people out there who copy everything I do, poorly, and rush to release it first to take credit.

I’m flattered, in a way, but it’s damaging. I’m not Ridley Scott — I’m indie, with a small but loyal market. When others flood the same idea to cheap distributors, it devalues the original. Sadly, many buyers are only interested in the title and poster. True selection comes later — from the audience.

Follow Domiziano Cristopharo and his projects at the links below:

Materia Prima

TetroVideo

Instagram